


This Much Deep-Fried Cheese and We're All Winners

by trascendenza



Category: Invisible Man (TV 2000), Psych
Genre: Character of Color, Gen, my holiday project 2009
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:19:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trascendenza/pseuds/trascendenza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"What are these mooks on about?" Bobby said, crunching on the chips. "Are they trying to say we're not cool?"</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	This Much Deep-Fried Cheese and We're All Winners

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [talitha78](http://trascendenza.dreamwidth.org/16629.html#talitha78).

"What?" Bobby said, making a face. "That's supposed to impress me?"

"That I figured out your occupation, favorite color, the name of your first pet _and_ your birthday by psychically tuning into your aura? Yeah, this is usually the juncture where people express awe and amazement. Sometimes a little fear sprinkled on top, for flavor." Shawn said.

"Even I'm kinda impressed," Gus said. "And I've seen him do this stuff plenty of times."

"Oldest con in the book," Darien said, tipping back his beer. Mariachi music played off in the distance, towards the center of the cantina. Even farther off, there was a hint of the surf sighing against the shore.

Bobby tilted the neck of his beer at Darien, nodding. "No one cons Bobby Hobbes, my friend."

"Well, that one time --"

"Yeah, but better we don't talk about that, don't you think?"

"Definitely. Although, the _other_ time --"

"Ah, the _other_ time. Now there was a keeper."

"That's what Claire said."

They laughed, doing a handslap across the table.

"Was the even English?" Gus said, sipping the margarita that was nearly the size of his face.

"Isn't that sweet," Shawn said, resting his chin on his intertwined hands, tilting his face towards Gus. "They're BFFs."

"So that was BFFglish?" Gus said.

"Or biffleglish, if you will. You and I are, of course, both fluent in our dialect, and it is seventy-two hundred times cooler than theirs. Actually? Make that seventy-two hundred and _one_ times cooler."

"What are these mooks on about?" Bobby said, crunching on the chips. "Are they trying to say we're not cool?"

"There was a strong implication of not-coolness, yes," Darien agreed, sliding Bobby the bowl of salsa exactly when his went empty.

"What, these two sit here and talk like little girlies on the playground and _we're_ the ones who aren't cool?" Bobby shook his head, sliding the bowl back to Darien. "Kids these days. Buncha idiots."

"You're pretty free with the insults for a guy who talks about himself in the third person," Shawn pointed out, signaling the waitress for another round.

"Some would construe your hostility as a thinly-veiled defense mechanism covering up deeply-rooted insecurities," Gus offered helpfully.

"Okay, that's it --" Bobby growled, reaching into his jacket.

"Hobbes," Darien warned, eyes casing the cantina. "This is not the place. Besides," he said, looking pointedly at Shawn and Gus, trying to transmit a message to them with his eyes. It went something like this: _my partner is a man I would throw my life down on the line for, but he's pretty much as batty as a cave in Transylvania._ "These two were about to buy us dinner, weren't they?"

Gus frowned. "I don't remember agreeing --"

"Yes, yes we were," Shawn said, talking over Gus and not-at-all-subtly kicking him under the table. Thankfully, in addition to biffleglish, he was fluent in eyeball. Gus glared and kicked him back, harder. There was a brief scuffle, but in the end, Gus threw the money down on the table.

"Quatro queso dos fritos for everyone!" Shawn said, smiling brightly. Bobby grumbled, but he ended up eating all of his serving and most of Darien's, too.


End file.
